


The Way The Beach Is Kissed By The Sea

by luninosity



Category: Actor RPF, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Boys Being Boys, Break Up, Caretaking, Coffee, Comfort, Concussions, Emotions, Epiphanies, F/M, Falling In Love, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Home, Hurt/Comfort, Indiana Jones jokes, M/M, Tea, and Danneel is awesome, that is Jensen and Danneel break up and it is totally mutual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-07
Updated: 2014-07-07
Packaged: 2018-02-07 21:55:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1915257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luninosity/pseuds/luninosity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Jensen tries to move out, Jared tries to make tea, someone gets a concussion, coffee is very important, and Indiana Jones is instrumental in realizations of love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Way The Beach Is Kissed By The Sea

**Author's Note:**

> Still finding more old J2 in odd folders! I have no idea when I wrote this. I also have no idea where Genevieve is. And Danneel is super-understanding. And I really like Indiana Jones.
> 
> Title from The Who’s “Love Reign O’er Me.”

It starts, really, with Danneel’s last visit.    
  
It starts with the way she too-casually mentions how nice it would be to have space of their own, a place that’s Jensen’s and not Jensen’s-and-Jared’s. She mentions it in that same oh-so-casual way at least ten times over two days, and the situation is not helped by Jared wandering around in sweaty gym shorts, Jared banging in and out of the house on his morning runs, or, well, Jared’s presence generally. Jensen can kind of see her point, but he doesn’t think it’s that big a deal. He likes living with Jared; it’s convenient, and it feels comfortable. He hasn’t really thought about it much beyond that, except for the inevitable snickering at the fangirl rumors. That tends to be the way he makes, or doesn’t make, decisions: why change something that already works? It’s been good so far.   
  
Danni doesn’t think so, though. The last straw comes when she asks if he wants to go out somewhere nice for dinner, and without even thinking about it Jensen says, “Sure, I’ll ask Jared if he’s got any preference.”   
  
“Jensen,” she says, and her tone is exasperated, and even a little sad. “I meant us. You and me. Not you and me and Jared.”   
  
Jensen blinks. “Oh. Right.” Of course. Because really, he’s not dating Jared. And maybe she’s been right all along, and living here isn’t the most healthy thing for him, or for their relationship. That is, the relationship between him and Danneel. The relationship between him and Jared is not anywhere near the subject of discussion.   
  
“Jensen,” Danni sighs. “I really think—”   
  
“I know,” he says. “And I’m thinking about it, too. I promise.” He smiles at her, and watches her eyes light up in her pretty face, and he thinks about how lucky he is.   
  
  
“I’ve been thinking about looking for a place,” he says to Jared a few days later, testing the reaction.    
  
Jared, who is currently engaged with a tug-of-war with Sadie, who has Jared’s best dress shirt in her mouth, says, “C’mon, girl, give it to me,” which Jensen assumes isn’t intended for him, so he waits. A few seconds later, the penny drops. “You’re what? Why?”   
  
Jensen shrugs. “Can’t put up with your sweaty stink forever, man.”   
  
Jared feigns insult. “You adore my sweaty stink. It’s manly.” Behind him, Sadie takes this opportunity to run off with his shirt. Jensen chooses not to point this out.   
  
Jared blinks hair out of his eyes. He is, in fact, slightly sweaty at the moment, unshaven and wearing his oldest wifebeater. Jensen has a momentary vision of Danneel’s petite prettiness, and mentally shakes his head. Fangirls are crazy.   
  
“Seriously,” Jared says, “why?” He flaps one arm, indicating the room and by extension the entire house. “Lots of space. Close to work. Awesome company.”   
  
“Really? Who would that be?”   
  
“Ha. Ha. Hilarious.”   
  
“Seriously, Jared...” Jensen thinks for a minute, trying to get the words right. Funny, really. For an actor, he’s never been really comfortable speaking to others, trying to find his own words instead of a character’s. There are only a few people he can talk to without worrying about what he’s going to say, and Jared’s always been right at the top of that short list. Until, it seems, right now.   
  
And Jared steps in, saving him from having to say it, the way Jared always does when Jensen can’t find the right words. “No, I get it. Space, right? You and Danneel thinking about taking things further?”   
  
“Well,” Jensen says. “Not specifically, but yeah, that’s kind of the general idea.”   
  
Jared nods. “Okay,” he says. “Want my realtor’s contact info?”   
  
And if there’s anything in his voice, in his eyes, that suggests any emotion besides a genuine desire to help a friend be happy, Jensen can’t spot it. Of course, Jared’s a damn good actor.   
  
Oddly, though, Jared’s easy acceptance and willingness to help actually bother him, just a bit, as he heads off to find his laptop and start browsing available homes in the area. He doesn’t want Jared to _cry_ or anything, for heaven’s sake, but it would be nice to know that he _cared_ about Jensen leaving.   
  
He knows that it’s a stupid and excessively pathetic thought, but it bothers him all day anyway.   
  
  
Jensen actually buys a place about two weeks later, a couple of miles away from Jared’s, actually, older but nicely renovated. It’s smaller than Jared’s, one-story, two bedrooms, one and a half bathrooms, but that’s okay, Jensen figures, he doesn’t need the space, or the giant yard.   
  
Jared’s surprised when Jensen tells him. “You only looked at five places!”   
  
Jensen shrugs. “This one seemed fine.”   
  
“But...” Jared stares at him like they’ve just met. “You don’t love the house! Does the house even like you?”   
  
“Jared,” Jensen says patiently, “I don’t care if my house loves me.”   
  
“You’re buying a home!” Jared says. They’re standing in the living room—Jared’s living room, Jensen reminds himself, he has to make that distinction now—and Jared flings his arms out like a carnival showman demonstrating a newly discovered Wonder of the World. “To be a home, it has to love you. And you have to love it.”   
  
Jensen looks around at the bookshelves overflowing with well-read books, the huge but somehow cozy great room strewn with dog toys and beds, Jared’s enormous pillowy couch, the kitchen counter where his coffee maker is still sitting in the exact spot where Jared turns it on every morning. He has to admit, Jared kind of has a point.    
  
“Feel the love, Jensen,” Jared intones. He’s still holding his arms out, and looks a little ridiculous, and also impressively muscular.   
  
“Feel your own love,” Jensen retorts. “I have a girlfriend.” And then he escapes into his own room and wonders why on God’s green earth he would have any kind of thought about Jared’s muscles.   
  
He distracts himself by starting to pack.   
  
  
Jared, of course, helps him move, along with a few guys from the crew, and Danni, who has decided to come up and help him get settled in. Chad calls and offers helpful advice, such as, “Don’t have sex in the moving van, dude. Trust me, bad idea.” There’s not actually that much to move; most of the furniture in their place— _Jared’s_ place—is Jared’s and will be staying. Jensen lets Danneel pick out new furniture and has it delivered, not really paying attention. It’s just furniture, and if she has a preference, that’s fine. He’s not picky.   
  
The place looks gorgeous, really, at the end of it, like a designer home. Wood floors, leather couch, shades of green and gray and brown complementing each other. Jensen knows next to nothing about design, but he likes the colors, and Danneel looks happy when he says so, and that’s good. Jared leans against the wall and says, “Nice,” not in a sarcastic tone but very quiet, almost wistful.   
  
No, Jensen thinks, he’s got to be imagining that one. Jared has never been wistful. What does that even mean, anyway? Can someone be full of wist?   
  
He blinks and realizes that both Jared and Danneel are watching him, and that he’s been looking in Jared’s direction for a few seconds too long. “Nice,” he agrees. “Thanks for the help, Jay.”   
  
“No problem,” Jared says, and his cheerful tone is clearly not that of a man possibly filled with wist. “About time you got out of my hair, anyway, and stopped cramping my style.”   
  
Jensen snorts. “What style?”   
  
Jared grins, but, unusually, doesn’t fire back. “I guess I should get out of here, now, and let you crazy kids enjoy the place.”   
  
“Bye, Jared,” Danneel says. Jensen’s surprised by the slight edge to her voice. He’s always thought that she liked Jared.    
  
There’s something here, a puzzle he can’t quite solve, in her voice, in Jared’s quietness, edges not quite meeting up. It’s frustrating, like looking at an object a little too far away to see, like when he’d used to peek over the tops of his glasses at the fuzzier version of the world. He thinks he should be able to see it, that undefined thing, especially since he’s got perfect vision now, but it’s still not quite clear enough.   
  
He doesn’t pick at it. That’s the strategy that’s gotten him through life, until now: not worrying, not pushing, not caring that much. Things come to him, things work out, or they don’t, and Jensen’s never wanted to be the guy who goes around trying to force his opinions on the world. He’s not sure he even really has opinions. He’s not Jared, who has opinions on everything from the state of American television to the color of the soap in the guest bathroom—Jared had decided that it had to be orange, because orange was a happy color, and he wanted guests to be happy. Jensen had just shrugged and said “Sure.”   
  
Danneel, he thinks, would probably be disappointed if he brought orange soap anywhere near the guest bathroom, which he has observed to be decorated in carefully neutral hues of brown and tan.   
  
She looks at him as Jared leaves, and smiles. She has a gorgeous smile. She’s done a lot of work decorating this place, for him. She knows his favorite colors, and she knows the lines and shapes he finds calming, relaxing. She knows him pretty well, he thinks.    
  
“Come on,” she says. “Let’s go christen your bedroom.”   
  
  
She stays for four days, during which the bedroom becomes thoroughly christened, along with most of the other rooms of the house. They’re good days; Jensen kisses her in the morning, goes to work and plays around with Jared on set, helps plot the obligatory weekly prank on Kripke, and comes home to dinner, and laughter, and back to the bedroom, or maybe the couch if they can’t make it anywhere else.   
  
Good days, Jensen thinks, but there’s still something, that weird indefinable sense of edges loosening again, that last puzzle piece that hadn’t found a spot. It’s there in the way that Jared says “Night,” and punches him on the shoulder as he gets out of the car, in the way that Danneel looks at him every time he calls Jared, which happens frequently because it turns out he’s forgotten a bunch of stuff over at Jared’s place, probably because the stuff wasn’t properly organized, which is an occupational hazard of living with Jared. They’re always quick calls, but Danneel somehow always seems to be around when they happen, and he knows she’s listening even when she’s pretending not to.   
  
She buys him a shiny new coffeemaker as a housewarming gift, and Jensen says thank you and leaves the old one at Jared’s, in case he’s ever over there and needs it, which indirectly leads to the resolution of at least part of the puzzle.   
  
The first morning he has to be on set after the move, the car had come to pick him up at the new place, and he’d been running late, still getting used to everything; he’d forgotten to start the shiny new coffeemaker, and he bolts out of the house grumbling and half awake and trying to put his jacket on backwards while not dropping his script.   
  
Their driver takes one look and cracks up, and Jensen’s just ridiculously thankful that he’s being picked up before his co-star, so that he might conceivably escape relentless mockery from at least one quarter.   
  
Not surprisingly, Jared hasn’t made it outside yet. Jensen, after five minutes, sighs and offers, “I’ll get him.”   
  
He heads up, knocks, and, when Jared yells, “One minute!” lets himself in anyway.   
  
And then he nearly runs right into Jared, who’s coming out of the kitchen, already dressed and ready and holding what smells like heaven in a travel mug.   
  
Jared freezes, face blank with surprise, and they stare at each other for a minute before one big hand thrusts the coffee his direction. “I, um. I kind of forgot and turned it on, and then I didn’t want to waste it, so...”   
  
There’s a pause, someplace between uncomfortable and anticipatory.   
  
And then Jensen admits, “I forgot to turn mine on,” and Jared bursts out laughing, handing him the cup. “See? You’re lost without me.”    
  
Jensen, who’s been looking ecstatically at the coffee, glances up at that, meaning to retort, but there it is _again_ , that funny little wistfulness behind the teasing, hiding in Jared’s eyes, a little less guarded because he’d thought Jensen hadn’t been looking.   
  
“Dude,” Jared grumbles, “quit staring, you’re making me blush,” and he brushes past Jensen and out the door, leaving Jensen to stand in Jared’s house, holding _his_ coffee and wondering what, exactly, just happened.   
  
  
Four days later, he’s been trying not to think of it, which isn’t hard considering his lovely company, but now Danneel’s gone too, off on a plane somewhere, and Jensen comes home to an empty house and sits on the couch by himself for a few minutes wondering what he should do.   
  
He could do anything, really. He’s got a whole house to himself. He could watch a movie, or one of the shows he’s got recorded that he hasn’t had a chance to catch up on. He could break out the X-Box; Danni can play video games just fine, but she does get bored after an hour or so of virtual mayhem.   
  
He doesn’t even realize he’s picked up the phone until he’s already dialed Jared.   
  
Who agrees to come over with typical enthusiasm. “Sure! Should I bring pizza? And beer? Or that strange blue stuff in a jar that we still have from Mike’s party last month?”   
  
Jensen says yes, sure, and under no circumstances whatsoever, and hangs up.   
  
Jared shows up half an hour later, balancing a pizza with more meat than cheese and a six-pack of Jensen’s favorite beer. He’s dressed surprisingly well, Jensen observes after relieving Jared of his burdens, in a striped shirt and one of his nicer pairs of jeans. He raises an eyebrow. “Got a hot date later?”   
  
Jared looks down at himself like he’s just realized what he’s wearing. “Oh. No, I, um. Your place is...nice. I thought I should...”   
  
Jensen laughs. “Dude, it’s still my place. Still me.”   
  
“Yeah,” Jared says. “Yeah, I guess so.”   
  
After pizza and beer, Jared challenges him to a game, and they amiably attack each other with virtual football players for a couple hours, and Jared relaxes bit by bit, though Jensen can’t help noticing that Jared still eyes the leather couch dubiously and doesn’t put his feet on the coffee table even after he’s taken off his shoes. But it’s a good night, and Jared even gets up and does a triumphant happy dance after his virtual team wins. Jared’s triumphant happy dance makes him look a lot like a chicken failing to fly, Jensen decides, but he’s laughing and so is Jared, and the whole house feels warm with it. It feels like home, for the first time.   
  
And that thought is enough to sober Jensen up completely, not that he’s had more than two beers. If it took Jared coming over here, Jared laughing and being a dork, to make Jensen’s house feel like home…   
  
Well, he’s not sure what that means, except that it can’t be good.   
  
“Right,” Jared says, finally done with his chicken dance and eying the clock. “Hate to say it, man, but I should probably head out. Early morning and all.”   
  
“Right,” Jensen agrees, automatically. Most of his brain is still preoccupied with the realization of how deeply, for him, Jared = home. “Um. Good night.”   
  
Jared leaves, and Jensen sits down on his new couch, where it’s still warm from Jared’s body, and tries again to put the puzzle together. He’s not quite there yet, but he’s starting to see the shape of it now. It’s shaped an awful lot like Jared.    
  
  
He’s in the shower the next morning, casually jerking off, not really thinking about much beyond the sensation, maybe a little bit about the curve of Danneel’s lips or her smooth skin, and then her skin develops dimples and her smile turns into Jared’s grin, Jared’s eyes looking back at him, and things happen so hard and so fast that he almost falls over.   
  
Oh, _Jesus_.    
  
He tries valiantly to not panic when Jared hops into the car beside him, or when Jared throws gummi bears at him in the makeup trailer. He thinks he does an okay job of hiding it, but he keeps reliving that moment every time Jared smiles or touches him or stands close or even breathes.    
  
It’s not the heretofore unrealized gay thing; Jensen was on _Days of Our Lives_ , after all, so _unrealized_ doesn’t even apply. It’s that he’s somehow developed a sudden lust for his co-star and best friend, and if he’s honest with himself, it’s probably a little more than lust. Moving out has done a pretty good job of rubbing that in. Not to mention the coffee.    
  
The coffee. And Jared’s smile.    
  
Jensen spends most of the day tense as hell, as much from the mental flailing he’s doing as from the heroic effort not to be aroused when Jared grins at him. He starts to wonder if Jared’s guessed something’s up, literally, because Jared grins at him a lot.   
  
He tells himself he’s being paranoid. Jared’s just a happy, friendly guy. Who smiles a lot _anyway_. This doesn’t mean that Jared’s thinking about Jensen in any way, much less in a way that would involve both of them ripping their clothes off and scarring Kripke for life.   
  
Jensen spends a few moments in happy contemplation of this idea before mentally shaking himself back into Dean’s headspace. The last thing they need is for Dean to start visibly lusting after his younger brother on camera, after all.   
  
The last shot of the day involves a building blowing up behind the brothers Winchester as they run away; Dean of course gets to be slightly behind, pushing Sam in front of him, watching out for him. Jensen thinks about touching Jared, about putting his hand on Jared, even through layers of clothing, and it’s this thought that distracts him, just a little bit, just enough so that he’s not quite on his mark when they start the filming, not quite standing where he should be.   
  
Two things go wrong in rapid succession: Jensen’s distracted and not quite paying attention, and then the explosives go off in more-than-spectacular fashion, sending bits of wood and set pieces flying everywhere with lethal force.   
  
Jensen’s running, and he hears someone—probably Kripke—shouting, and then something smacks him in the head and everything goes black.   
  
He wakes up a couple of seconds later, and his head hurts like hell, but Jared’s arms are around him and that’s a pretty good distraction. He obviously hasn’t been out very long; people are still yelling and running around behind them.   
  
“Jensen,” Jared’s saying. “Jensen, look at me, come on, please...” His voice is shaking; he sounds terrified. Jensen doesn’t want Jared to be terrified, so he opens his eyes, and then immediately closes them again, because everything is too bright and it hurts.   
  
“Jensen!” Jared sounds desperate now. Jensen attempts the eye-opening again, trying to focus on Jared. It doesn’t hurt as much this time, and he guesses he’s probably all right. “ ’m okay,” he manages to say, and the look on Jared’s face is heartbreakingly relieved.   
  
The on-set paramedics show up then, and Jared hovers protectively while they inform Jensen that he probably has a mild concussion, but nothing worse, and that he should go home and rest. They tell him that someone should probably stay with him just in case, and before Jensen can reply, Jared says “Yeah, of _course_ I will,” like he’s offended that anyone would think otherwise.   
  
He puts Jensen in the car and gets them both taken to Jensen’s house, opening doors and offering a shoulder to lean on the entire way. Jensen’s head is starting to hurt a lot now, and he doesn’t try to form coherent thoughts or sentences, but he’s grateful that Jared is there, and kind of touched.   
  
Jared installs him in the bedroom, brings him books and magazines, and tells him not to go to sleep because people with brain injuries shouldn’t sleep, to which Jensen mutters, “Yeah, but you still own a bed,” and is rewarded by Jared’s snort. “At least you still have what passes for your sense of humor.”   
  
“I will always be funnier than you,” Jensen says, as loftily as he can. The effect is sort of spoiled by a yawn, and he realizes that his body is actually quite tired, though his mind isn’t really. Getting blown across the room by explosives will do that, he figures.   
  
“You shouldn’t sleep,” Jared says again. “Do you want tea? Or food? I can make you food.”   
  
The thought of food is not a happy one, but Jared obviously needs something to do; he’s hovering and fidgety and clearly tense. Jensen settles for tea and hopes that both Jared and his stomach will calm down.   
  
He’s lying there half-asleep, letting painkillers work their magic, thinking that Jared’s taking a while and vaguely wishing he’d come back, when Jensen hears a thump and crash from the kitchen. He calls out, “Jared?” and gets no answer. After a couple of seconds, he sighs and gets up and wanders out to see what’s going on.   
  
What’s going on is that Jared has somehow managed to knock over two cups, the coffeemaker _and_ the toaster, and something that looks suspiciously like sugar has frosted every major surface area with snowy dust. Jared’s standing in the middle of the hurricane, looking despondent.   
  
Jensen clears his throat. “Jay? Everything all right?”   
  
Jared spins around. “I’m sorry,” he says, Texas drawl more pronounced than usual and more miserable. “I don’t know where you keep things, and...” He sounds like he’s apologizing for every major calamity in the world, not just for coating Jensen’s kitchen in sugar, and he waves one hand at the mess, uncoordinated, not in the usual happy flailing way, but disjointed, shoulders slumped. He sounds like not knowing the details of Jensen’s kitchen might be the worst failure of his life.   
  
Jensen shrugs. “To be honest, _I_ don’t actually know where I keep things. I didn’t even know I had tea.”   
  
And Jared’s face cracks into a smile, a small one, but a smile nonetheless.   
  
And then the smile transmutes into a look of dismay. “What are you doing up? You should be in bed!”   
  
“I feel fine!” Jensen points out, which isn’t quite the truth, but isn’t far from it. He’s felt worse after parties with Mike and Tom, although Mike and Tom have never hit him in the head with blunt objects until he passes out. As far as he knows, anyway.   
  
“Are you sure?” Jared regards him skeptically, like he’s waiting for Jensen to keel over on the sugar-coated kitchen floor.    
  
“ _Yes_ , Jared, I’m not on my deathbed, believe it or not,” Jensen retorts, and then watches Jared flinch and look away, like he doesn’t want to hear those words, and Jensen thinks, _aha_ , because there’s another piece of the puzzle falling into place in Jared’s expression.   
  
“I’m bored,” Jensen says. “And you won’t let me sleep. So you have to entertain me.” Because, really, if he’s going to be treated like he’s deathly ill, he might as well get some enjoyment out of it.   
  
The multitude of expressions that flit across Jared’s eyes are too numerous to count, then. But all Jared says is, “Want me to read to you? If you even own books?”   
  
“I entirely own books,” Jensen says, “I’ve even opened one or two,” and that’s how he ends up with his head in Jared’s lap while that lazy faded-sunshine voice settles into the rhythms of Lewis Carroll, white rabbits and adventures and lateness to a party, and he closes his eyes and thinks about arriving exactly where and when he wants to be.   
  
  
Danneel calls a couple of days later; they chat for a few minutes, about work and life and LA versus Vancouver and how he’s liking the new place. Jensen tells her that it’s good, that everything is good, because it is. It’s comfortable, like it always is, talking to her. He mentions losing a day of filming, casually, and then has to explain to her about the mishap on set, and _then_ has to tell her that he’s fine, repeatedly.   
  
“Did someone stay with you?” she asks. “You know people with head injuries shouldn’t sleep.”   
  
Jensen laughs. “Jared did. He said the exact same thing, only I told him that it wouldn’t matter, I’d still be the smart one.”   
  
She’s quiet for a second, just enough for Jensen to wonder if maybe he’s somehow said something wrong.   
  
“Jensen,” she says finally, “why didn’t you call me?”   
  
He shrugs, even though she can’t see it. “It’s not a big deal. I’m fine, the guy who set up the explosives got fired, Jared was there, everything worked out.”   
  
“Yeah,” she says, softly. “I guess you are fine.”   
  
And that’s when Jensen realizes what she’s really saying, and he tries to tell her no, tries to tell her that he loves her, but they both know that even after a four-hour conversation, all it comes down to is that one first sentence: you’re fine without me.    
  
They end it on good terms anyway. It’s something they both understand how to do.   
  
Before she goes, Danneel says, “Jensen? One last thing.”   
  
“What?”   
  
“Just...” She sighs. “Just don’t be afraid to go after what you really want, all right?”   
  
“Sure,” Jensen says, even though he doesn’t quite know what she means. It’s easier to agree, though.    
  
And Danni says, “Goodbye, Jensen” and hangs up, and it’s over, just like that. Just that simple.   
  
He sits down on the couch, not quite sure what to do now, and flips on the tv as a distraction from thinking nothing at all. _Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom_ is on, and the first thing he thinks is that he should call Jared, so they can mock the annoying kid sidekick and debate the merits of bullwhip versus shotgun as heroic accessory, and Jensen is actually reaching for the phone before he stops.    
  
He’s just broken up with his long-term serious girlfriend. He shouldn’t be thinking about hanging out with Jared; he should be mourning his loss or drowning his sorrows or whatever it is that a normal person does when a big part of his life has just hung up the phone for the last time.   
  
The guilt hits him over the head in much the same way the exploding set did earlier in the week. It’s not guilt over the break-up. It’s guilt about not feeling guilty over the break-up. It’s guilt about not really feeling anything at all.   
  
He stares at the television, where Indy has just managed to fight his way through a roomful of bad guys despite having previously ingested a large glass of poison. He brings a girl along with him, too, for good measure. Indiana Jones, Jensen decides, is mocking him.   
  
Maybe, he thinks, there’s something wrong with him, Jensen. Shouldn’t he be upset? Shouldn’t he care? Though that’s not quite true; Jensen does care whether Danneel is okay, he does want her to be happy in the future. He just doesn’t think he cares enough, or in the right way. It’s easier, like always, to just accept it, the way things are now, and not try to fight against it. Easier not to push things.   
  
On the screen, Indy’s plane goes down. The pilot has abandoned ship, and there are no more parachutes. If there’s a more disturbing metaphor for Jensen’s own lack of self-direction, Jensen is hard-pressed to think of it.   
  
Indy, being the resourceful guy that he is, launches his little group into the sky in an inflatable life raft. It looks horribly death-defying and frightening and they flail around, completely out of control. But they all live.   
  
He turns off the tv and goes to bed, thinking about life rafts and survival against all odds.   
  
  
He’s still thinking about things the next morning, turning Danneel’s parting words over in his head one by one as he gets dressed. She knows him pretty well, she’s been closer to him than anyone ever. Anyone except maybe Jared, with whom he spends pretty much all of his waking hours, and who always knows when Jensen’s feeling tired, or embarrassed, or relaxed, or in the right mood to put superglue on Kripke’s toilet. Jared just seems to have a sixth sense about those kinds of things. About Jensen’s moods, that is. Though, considering the variety of pranks the guy manages to come up with, perhaps he does have some superhuman ability to provoke hilarity.    
  
Also, it’s amazing how, even when he’s trying to think about something _Danneel_ said, every one of Jensen’s thoughts invariably leads back to Jared.   
  
That’s the moment when the metaphorical lightbulb pops, and Jensen freezes with his shirt halfway over his head.   
  
No. Yes. No. He’s not in love with Jared. Is he?   
  
Danni thinks he is. Most of the _Supernatural_ fan community assumes he is. Judging from the recent shower experiences (yes, plural, dammit), Jensen’s own, er, little Jensen finds Jared very attractive indeed. That traitor.   
  
But he can’t be in love with Jared. That’s the sort of thing Jensen thinks he would have noticed, after all, being in love with somebody. And Jared is his best friend, his partner in crime on the set, the guy who’s always leaving candy wrappers in strange places and emitting toxic gases. And he often smells vaguely like dog. Except when he’s just gotten out of the shower, when he smells like soap and like that ridiculously fruit-scented shampoo he buys, which Jensen always and quite appropriately mocks.   
  
Dammit, Jensen thinks again. If memorizing another person’s smell is a symptom, he might in fact be in love with Jared.   
  
He finishes getting dressed, absentmindedly, and hops in the studio car when it comes to pick him up. Maybe seeing Jared will clear up some of the confusion. All it should take is an early-morning whiff of dog and one, maybe two, gummi bears on display up Jared’s nose before Jared stops seeming like such an attractive person, and then Jensen can forget about this whole thing, and nothing has to change at all.   
  
This resolution crumbles within ten seconds of Jared running out the door and jumping into the car, all boundless energy and that dimpled smile, and Jensen finds himself grinning back, helplessly, tipsily, happily. Jared smells like fruit and soap and dog and it doesn’t bother Jensen at all, just makes him grin, because that’s just how Jared smells.   
  
“Hey!” he says, and then launches into a story about some cute thing that Sadie did that morning, which naturally was the cutest thing ever done by canine-kind, at least in Jared’s world. Jensen kind of tunes out the details, watching him. Looking for some kind of clue, some resolution, in the flash of Jared’s grin, the excited waving of his hands, the little moles that dot his tanned skin. Somewhere in there, Jensen thinks, something should tell him the answer, should let him know what to think or say or do.    
  
He waits for the big revelation, for that _eureka!_ moment that he can’t possibly miss, but it doesn’t come. It’s just Jared, comfortable and goofy and ignoring personal space like always, only Jared’s stopped talking and now he’s looking at Jensen with concern. Jensen hopes his distraction hasn’t been too apparent, but that’s probably a futile hope, because Jared says, eyes all dark with worry, “Are you all right?”   
  
“I’m fine,” Jensen says hastily. Confused as hell, but that’s getting to be normal for him.    
  
“Are you sure?”   
  
He can’t lie to Jared. Jensen mentally curses this fact, for what’s got to be the hundredth time. The guy just knows when Jensen’s not telling him everything, and if he thinks something’s wrong, he’ll keep pushing until Jensen finally caves. Because Jared knows him, in and out, like no one else ever has.    
  
Jensen takes a breath, looks away. “I’ll tell you later,” he says.   
  
“Promise?” Jared says, with his best Sam Winchester trust-me-and-tell-me-everything look.   
  
“Jesus. Yes.”   
  
“Pinky swear?”   
  
“What? How old are you, five?”    
  
Jared sticks out his tongue in response, and Jensen finds himself shaking his head and saying “Good argument, man, very eloquent,” but smiling in spite of himself while he says it.   
  
Funny, how Jared can always make him smile.   
  
  
  
Jared actually holds out a lot longer than Jensen would have guessed; despite sideways glances and protective hovering, he doesn’t ask any questions until after lunch, when they’ve got a few minutes break while the crew sets up for the next scene.    
  
And then he does. Pointedly.   
  
Jensen sighs, and gives in sooner rather than later. “Danneel and I. We kind of, um. Split up.”   
  
“Oh,” Jared says, and looks at him intently. “Oh, man, I’m sorry, are you...”   
  
“I’m okay, actually,” Jensen admits, and sees some of the concern in Jared’s face ease up.   
  
“What happened?”   
  
“Um.” Jensen rubs at the back of his neck, ducking away from the awkwardness of the explanation. “I just...we weren’t working. It was mutual, I guess.” He tries for a smile. “Just the right thing to do, y’know?”   
  
“Do I?”   
  
“What?”   
  
“Know?”   
  
“…what?”   
  
“Never mind.” Jared looks away, at the bustle of last-minute set-decoration in the background. “You do seem…surprisingly okay, yeah. So that’s it, then? What you want?”   
  
“Um. Yeah?”   
  
At which Jared looks at him like he wants Jensen to say something more, like there’s something Jensen’s not doing, not understanding, and Jensen doesn’t know what he’s supposed to be doing or understanding, so he just says nothing, waiting for a cue, waiting for something else to change, for someone else to start things in motion. Because that’s what he does. Because that’s easier.   
  
Jared bites his lip, eyes flickering away, and says, “Okay, well...I have to, um. Run lines.” He waves a hand, vaguely, in the direction of his trailer. “So I’m gonna go. Do that.”   
  
“Jared—” Jensen doesn’t know what he’s asking for. Forgiveness, maybe, even though he doesn’t know what he’s done wrong. The right words, for once. Divine inspiration. The answers to all the hesitations that he can’t make himself get past.   
  
Jared breathes in and out like a man with broken ribs, careful and precise, and then says, “If you need to talk, or, you know, get incredibly drunk, or if there’s anything I can do, just ask,” and it’s clear that he means it, despite the sudden hurt that’s written all over his face. Jared always means what he says, and he’s always been there for anyone needing help, any friend in trouble, anything Jensen could ever have asked him for. Right now, Jared’s hurting and disappointed, Jensen can see it, and the guy is _still_ trying to be there to help with _Jensen’s_ pain. That’s the kind of man Jared is.   
  
Jared turns to walk back toward his trailer, shoulders a little slumped. There’s a stray dog hair on his jacket, Jensen notices with an odd kind of clarity, like all the tiny details of this moment want to impress themselves onto his memory and stay there forever.    
  
Jared scuffs the toe of one shoe in the dirt as he takes another step, and that’s when Jensen thinks to himself, I do love this man.    
  
It’s not a big revelation like he thought it would be, not a thunderbolt out of the sky. It’s all the million little things, the quirks and the flaws and the perfect moments, it’s the way that Jared cares about everybody, the most unselfish person Jensen knows. It’s the dirt on Jared’s shoes and the dog hair on his jacket, and it’s the way that Jared sometimes looks up with that tiny happy smile, and the way that Jensen can’t imagine home without him, orange soap in the guest bathroom and candy wrappers and all.    
  
He says, “Jared, hold on.”   
  
Jared turns around, blinking at him from under the mop of hair. Jensen has a sudden urge to run his fingers through it, to touch Jared’s face and make the wounded edges go away.   
  
“What is it, Jensen?” Jared’s voice sounds too tired, too old for him.   
  
Jensen takes a breath, and thinks about going after what he wants, thinks about Indiana Jones and jumping into the sky and hoping to live, maybe for the first time. He realizes that he’s smiling, feeling oddly lighter than he has in years. Because he’s in love with Jared, and Jared loves him, and everything is going to be all right, whether Jared knows it or not.   
  
Jared’s eyes have gone kind of wide, looking at him, and his expression flickers between disappointed hurt and worry and maybe, around the edges, a little tinge of hope, especially when Jensen closes the distance between them.   
  
“I’m not big on public displays of affection,” Jensen tells him. “Except with you.”   
  
And then he does what he’s been wanting to do, tangles a hand in Jared’s hair, and pulls him down into a kiss.    
  
There’s a moment of stunned stillness from Jared, just long enough for Jensen to think, _Oh God, what if I’ve made a monumentally enormous mistake?_ , and then Jared’s kissing him back, lips warm and hands everywhere, clinging to him like a drowning man finally finding salvation. It’s messy and it’s sloppy and it’s not gentle, and Jensen’s neck might be sore tomorrow from the awkwardness of kissing someone the size of a small mountain, but he doesn’t care.   
  
Because this, _this_ , is the one thing he’s ever really wanted.   
  
Eventually, once they surface, he becomes aware of the background noise, and tips his head just a enough so he can catch a glimpse over Jared’s shoulder. Kripke, Phil, and a not-inconsiderable small crowd of other cast and crew are cheering. Well, mostly cheering. Some of them appear to be collecting on bets.    
  
Jensen can feel his face going red, but for once that doesn’t bother him. He leans against Jared, who’s breathless, grinning, even laughing a little, astonished and amazed and not embarrassed even a tiny bit. Jensen thinks that look might be the best thing he’s ever seen. He wants to see that look every day.    
  
He has to make sure that Jared knows this, that Jared knows exactly how he feels, and so he says, “I love you, but you’re gonna owe me a neck massage after this, Sasquatch.”    
  
Jared’s smile just gets brighter and warmer at the words, though Jensen would have sworn that wasn’t possible. He can tell that Jared knows that Jensen means it, every single word of those important first three, and everything behind them that Jensen doesn’t say out loud. Jared always knows.   
  
“Get used to it, princess,” Jared retorts. “Cause I plan on kissing you a lot.” And he leers at Jensen in a suggestive manner, or what Jared probably thinks is a suggestive manner but is in all honesty kind of silly. Jensen mimes fear, ducking away, and laughs in his face until Jared wraps those giant arms around him and hauls him in close. “I love you, too,” he whispers, breath warm against Jensen’s skin. “Move back in with me?”


End file.
